


Leave Your Key

by jooliewrites



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Connor, Canon Compliant - Season two, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Break Up, Top Oliver, angsty sex, idk. whatever, sad sex, um...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8105551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: The hour is late and the apartment is dark when Oliver finally gets home and isn’t the least bit surprised to see the silhouette of a man on his couch.
Oliver has been expecting him.
“Some might call this breaking and entering,” Oliver says conversationally.
“Loophole.” From the couch, Connor raises the glass in his hand in a toast before taking a sip. “I still got a key.” 
Oliver watches Connor’s throat move as he swallows and decides, then and there, that he’s done with this.
“Get out,” he orders softly, velvet over steel.
Connor doesn’t even move at the order. “Oliver. Come on.”
“Leave your key,” Oliver whispers, his eyes never leaving Connor’s face.
- 
A scene from the aftermath...





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about things that may happen in s3 and got angsty. [originally posted](https://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/post/150711196833/i-was-thinking-about-things-that-may-happen-in-s3)

The hour is late and the apartment is dark when Oliver finally gets home. Leaving the light off, he wearily sets down his bag and shrugs off his coat. Glancing up as he hangs it, Oliver isn’t the least bit surprised to see the silhouette of a man on his couch.

Oliver has been expecting him.

“Some might call this breaking and entering,” Oliver says conversationally as he heads into the kitchen, flipping on a few of the overhead lights as he goes.

“Loophole, Oliver.” From the couch, Connor raises the glass in his hand in a toast. “I still got a key.” He turns his head to shoot Oliver a deadly wink before taking a sip.

“So, a B&E and stealing my booze. Fantastic.” Oliver grabs himself a beer out of the fridge. Twisting the cap off with the flick of his wrist, he tosses it in the sink and leans a hip against the counter as he takes a long pull.

“Not stealing,” Connor says, raising one finger in protest. He swirls the glass in his hand, watching the amber whiskey catch the moonlight. “We got this as a gift. I’m drinking my half.” Connor lifts his head, waiting for Oliver to meet his gaze, and downs the rest of the glass with their eyes locked on each other.

Oliver watches Connor’s throat move as he swallows and decides, then and there, that he’s done with this. This, this game they’re playing, this cat and mouse that’s been going on since Connor moved out weeks ago, it needs to stop.

“Get out,” he orders softly, velvet over steel.

Connor doesn’t even move at the order. “Oliver. Come on.”

But Oliver shakes his head. “No. Leave. Now.”

With a resigned nod, Connor gets up. If this is the way Oliver wants to play it, this is way they are going to play.

Connor takes his time walking over to the kitchen and his footsteps echo off the hardwood. He sets the glass down on the counter with a resounding crack and gives it a little push so it slides over to the rest at the lip of the sink.

They stand there for a few beats in stillness, eyeing each other over. Oliver notes the bags hanging heavy under Connor’s red-rimmed eyes and tells himself it’s not any of his concern anymore.

Connor pulls a deep breath in through his nose and catches a faint hint of coconut shampoo and Downy fabric softener. Not too long ago, Connor’s whole future had been scented with hints of coconut shampoo and Downy fabric softener. Now, his present is the musty scent of Michaela’s couch or the dusty sleeping bag on Wes’ floor and his future is a bleak expanse of grey nothingness.

Connor cocks an eyebrow. “You really want me to go?” He knows the answer but also knows that this is the way the game is played. When Oliver doesn’t respond, Connor tries again. “Come on,” he cajoles as he inches closer. He takes Oliver’s hips in his hands and smirks in a way he knows Oliver can’t fucking stand. “You really want me to go?”

“Leave your key,” Oliver whispers, his eyes never leaving Connor’s face.

Connor throws his hands up in defeat. “Alright.”

He digs into his pocket for the keys, stepping infinitesimally closer as he twists the key to 303 off the ring. Holding Oliver’s gaze, Connor snaps the key down on the stone. “All yours.”

The air is thick between them; the moment heavy. Connor licks his bottom lip but Oliver’s eyes never stray from his.

“Well then,” Connor breathes out. He adjusts the knot of Oliver’s tie then lets his fingertips trail down the length of silk. “See you around…” Connor trails off and his eyes snap back to Oliver’s. For a beat, a breath, they linger; both waiting, knowing, accepting, craving what’s about to happen.

“…Ollie,” Connor whispers.

The single, simple word is barely through Connor’s lips before Oliver is on him.

“Don’t.” Oliver growls. He takes Connor’s hips and whips him around, crowding Connor back against the counter. His mouth is hot on Connor’s, licking inside and making Connor groan. Oliver pulls back suddenly. “Don’t fucking call me that,” he snarls before capturing Connor’s lips once again.

“What?” Connor arches his neck back; leaving a long line for Oliver to mouth down.

“You know.” Oliver sucks a mark near Connor’s pulse and nips at it with his teeth, smiling when Connor hisses deliciously. “You know what you said.”

This time it’s Connor who grabs Oliver’s hips and pushes Oliver back against the opposite wall. Flattening him against it, it’s now Connor whose mouth takes Oliver’s. It’s Connor who bites Oliver’s earlobe and nips at the bolt of Oliver’s jaw. It’s Connor’s hands who cup Oliver’s cock through his dress pants and feel him beginning to thicken.

“You love it,” Connor taunts. He rolls his hips against Oliver’s once and then twice. Their hardening lengths brushing against each other, again and again. “You love it.”

Oliver’s hands are on Connor’s chest and hips, running up his arms, fingers tangling in Connor’s hair. Oliver’s mouth is on his, lips trailing and biting over Connor’s cheeks and neck and jaw. Oliver’s hands trail back down again, palming Connor’s as and pulling him in closer. It’s too goddamn distracting.

Taking Oliver’s wrists, Connor yanks then up and away above Oliver’s head, pressing them into the wall with one hand. With his other, Connor gets a hand on Oliver’s hips to pin him back again against the wall. He sneaks a thumb under the cotton of Oliver’s shirt to press into the softness of Oliver’s skin and revels at Oliver’s answering groan.

“Say it, Ollie,” Connor bites out, his hot breath ghosting over Oliver’s lips. “Say you love it.” Say you love _me_.

Ripping his hands free, Oliver shoves Connor back a step. Breathing heavy, they eye each other for a beat, a breath. Then Oliver’s stepping close again, hands ripping Connor’s sweater up and over head then flinging it down on the floor and moving onto fighting with Connor’s belt.

Connor toes off his shoes, kicking them away, and tries to capture Oliver’s lips but Oliver evades, keeping his head down and focused on getting Connor’s belt undone. So Connor settles for kisses to Oliver’s temple and cheek, the smooth line of his forehead, and, for the briefest of moments, one quick press of lips to the softness of his eyelids when Oliver lets his eyes fall closed.

When Connor’s belt finally gives, Oliver drops to his knees, mouthing down the line of Connor’s chest as he drops down. He tugs down Connor’s pants and boxer briefs in one go and licks a stripe down his palm before taking Connor’s cock in his hand. Pumping his fist a few times, a quick self-satisfied smile gracing his lips as Connor hardens in his palm, Oliver circles the tip of Connor’s penis with his tongue once and then again before opening his mouth and slipping Connor shallowly between his lips.

“Jesus.” Knotting a hand in Oliver’s hair, Connor throws his head back.

He’s missed this. Connor’s missed everything since that fateful day, weeks ago now, when Oliver discovered the truth about it all and kicked him out. But, Jesus Christ, Connor wonders if he’s missed this most of all. Oliver on his knees. Oliver taking him in his mouth. Oliver tasting him. Oliver loving him.

Connor bucks his hips, thrusting softy into the wet, heat of Oliver’s mouth, pushing farther, craving more but Oliver’s hands are quick to grip Connor’s hips, squeezing tightly and pressing Connor back into the cool, solid line of the countertop.

“Oliver,” Connor whines against the tight hold on his hips. He needs more. He needs everything. “Please.”

Oliver pulls back. “Patience,” he murmurs as he noses down Connor’s cock. Oliver circles his tongue around one of Connor’s balls before sucking it into the wet heat of his mouth.

Connor’s head falls back again on a filthy moan that turns into another whine when Oliver shifts to give the other one the same treatment. Connor knots a hand in Oliver’s hair, holding him there, pressing him closer, and mindlessly begs. “Ollie.”

Oliver moves again, kitten licks back up the length of Connor’s cock, swiping the bead of precum off the tip, before leaning back on his heels. He looks up, eyes open, and waits.

“Oll-” Connor begins.

“What do you want, Connor?”

Trying to catch his breath, Connor stares down. You, he wants to admit. I want you. I want this. I want us. I want it all back again. But Connor holds his tongue.

“What do you need, Connor?” Oliver tries again.

You, Connor thinks a second time. I need you. But instead, he simply begs with a soft, “Oliver” and is rewarded when Oliver smiles soft and moves.

Oliver leans in, mouth open wide, and swallows Connor down, slowly and deeply down. He relaxes and opens his throat, taking Connor down to the base, his nose tickling in the short, coarse hair at the root..

Still looking up, eyes wide and locked on Connor’s, Oliver swallows once. Connor bites his lip to muffle the curse when Oliver’s throat flutters around him. Reaching down, Connor cups Oliver’s cheek to feel the outline of himself in Oliver’s mouth and trails fingertips down, pressing lightly down against Oliver’s throat when Oliver swallows once more.

Jesus Christ.

Before he embarrasses himself by coming too soon down Oliver’s open throat, Connor curls fingertips into the cotton of Oliver’s dress shirt and yanks him up. Connor didn’t come here for just this. Connor didn’t come for a blowjob in the kitchen with Oliver still fully dressed at his feet. Connor came for more. He needs more.

Gripping Oliver’s shirt and tie, Connor wretches in him close for a kiss that’s sloppy. It’s wet and Oliver’s mouth is too open and Connor could give a fuck. He licks and bites and takes Oliver’s mouth. Oliver’s hand grip Connor’s hips hard enough to leave marks but Connor can’t find anything but pleasure at the thought of Oliver leaving a mark, of waking up tomorrow with Oliver’s fingertips on his hips.

For his own part, Connor can’t keep his hands still. They’re in Oliver’s hair, holding his cheek, trailing down his arms and up his back. They’re cupping Oliver’s cock through his pants and gripping handfuls of Oliver’s ass.

Something about the moment, about Oliver’s throat fluttering around him, broke something in Connor and he can’t manage to keep his need under control anymore. He doesn’t care anymore if he’s coming off desperate and needy and frantic. He wants Oliver, he needs Oliver, and he just doesn’t give a damn anymore of Oliver knows it.

At once Oliver pushes Connor’s hands off and takes an immediate step back. Connor freezes. He’s gone too far. He needs too much. Oliver’s going really ask him to leave now. But Oliver’s hands are almost soft when they cup Connor’s cheeks and the kiss he places on Connor’s lips is a little gentler than before, a little softer, a little more vulnerable. It’s nearly loving but not quite.

Mouth still on Connor’s, Oliver bends a little, slipping his hands down Connor’s sides to the backs of his thighs and lifts. Understanding, Connor wraps his legs around Oliver’s waist and drapes his arms over Oliver’s shoulders. Oliver’s fingers dig into Connor’s ass, one hand brushing soft fingertips over Connor’s hole, and Connor groans in pleasure.

There, with legs wrapped around Oliver’s hips as Oliver holds him up, Connor feels like he’s flying. He feels like the only things keeping him tethered to this plane are Oliver’s lips, soft and sweet under his own, and Oliver’s hands, strong and solid underneath him. The embrace makes Connor feel safe. Safe and cherished and protected and…and loved.

When Oliver takes a step and starts walking them over to the bedroom, Connor’s lips curve in a smile that he hides against Oliver’s neck. “Ollie.”

The name is a soft endearment and Oliver smiles in response. He presses soft lips to Connor’s temple and brushes those gentle fingertips over Connor’s hole once again.

Stopping near the edge of the bed, Oliver slaps Connor’s ass once, smiling again at Connor’s helpless chuckle of delight, before tossing Connor down on the bed. Scrambling up to his knees, Connor tries to pull Oliver down by his tie but Oliver’s too quick and slips away.

Rooting in the bedside table, he sets a condom aside before fishing out the lube and tossing it down next to Connor. Oliver presses a thumb against Connor’s lips and Connor sucks it in his mouth automatically.

Oliver smirks as he leans down to whisper, “You have until I get undressed.”

With that, Oliver stands, slipping his thumb out of Connor’s mouth, and walks to the closet, leaving Connor there on the bed, watching after him. Oliver tugs the knot of his tie free and wraps it up before setting it away on a shelf and slipping off his suit jacket. Reaching for a coat hanger, Oliver turns to spy Connor sitting naked and still, eyes hooded, in the center of what had once been their bed.

“I wasn’t kidding.” Oliver hangs the coat and starts to unbutton his shirt. “You better be ready.”

At that gentle reminder, Connor starts. He’d gotten lost in watching Oliver; he’d forgotten what they were doing here.

After a quick, mental debate, Connor gets on his hands and knees. He’d thought about setting back against the pillows but, feeling Oliver’s eyes on him, reconsidered. This moment isn’t about Connor watching Oliver, it’s about Ollie watching him.

Connor squirts some lube on his fingers before reaching back. He runs a fingertip lightly down his crack before gently circling the ring of muscle around his hole. Glancing behind, Connor spies Oliver watching, standing transfixed, his button-down held absently in one hand as he watches Connor’s fingers tease his hole. Connor bites a lip to hide a smile as he presses one finger inside. It burns a little and Connor groans a bit. In haste, he didn’t get enough lube on his finger but maybe that’s okay. Maybe Connor wants it to hurt just a little bit.

Through hooded eyes, Connor looks back again to watch Oliver’s shoulders move and rolls as he slips off his undershirt and tosses it in the hamper. Connor adds a second finger when Oliver lets his pants fall to the floor, pumping a little faster now, scissoring his fingers to stretch his opening. Connor bites his lip again to hold back a plea but a breathless, needy moan of “Ollie” slips out anyway when Oliver’s pants and boxer briefs join the rest of his laundry.

Oliver smirks as he walks over and Connor has to turn his head forward, look away from Oliver’s smiling face lest he beg again.

“You ready?” Oliver asks, smoothing a hand down the long line of Connor’s back.

Connor’s nod and soft, “Yes” and frantic and desperate and Oliver’s chuckle is dark in response.

He leans over Connor then, kissing along Connor’s shoulders as he reaches for the bottle of lube. Clicking the cap open, Oliver coats his fingers. “Let’s just see,” he whispers and presses one of his fingers in next to Connor’s.

The arm holding Connor up starts to shake in anticipation and, when three fingers start fucking his hold, Connor’s arm gives out all together.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, his head and shoulders pressing down against the pillows, his ass still high in the air. When Oliver finds Connor’s prostate and rubs his fingertip over it, Connor knots a hand in the sheets and begs. “Please,” he whimpers. “Fuck. Pleeease, Oliver.”

“Not yet,” Oliver whispers. “Not yet, Connor.”

Connor slips his fingers from his hole but Oliver’s quick to add two of his own, keeping three fingers pumping and stretching inside of Connor. Connor knots both hands in the sheets and pulls. Oliver’s other hand is on the small of his back. Oliver’s lips are feather-light along the top of Connor’s ass. Connor can’t take this anymore. It’s too much. It’s not enough. He reaches one hand down to circle his cock, spreading the beads of pre-cum down along the shaft.

Oliver nips one of Connor’s ass cheeks and smacks the other. “Hands off.”

Connor groans into a pillow but complies. “Oliver,” he whines, groans, begs.

Oliver takes his fingers out of Connor’s ass and presses down until Connor’s lying flat on the mattress. He runs his hands up Connor’s sides, and down Connor’s outstretched arms. He plasters himself over Connor’s back, sucking lightly on one of Connor’s earlobes before whispering in Connor’s ear. “Tell me. Tell me what you want, Connor.”

“I–” Connor’s voice breaks on a moan when Oliver rocks his hips, teasing the weight of his cock against Connor’s crack. It isn’t fair – Oliver’s pressing him down into the mattress, Oliver’s fingers are linked with his, Oliver’s voice is in his ear – and Oliver expects Connor to be able to think.

“You!” The word comes out as a cry and whine. Connor turns, seeking Oliver’s lips, Oliver’s eyes. “You. Want you. You inside–you in me. Ollie.”

“Okay.” Oliver’s lips capture Connor’s in a kiss that’s soothing. “Okay, Con. I got you. I got you.”

With a hand on Connor’s shoulder, Oliver helps the other man turn over. “Wanna watch you, Con.” He settles a pillow, then other, behind Connor’s back, supporting him, making him comfortable, before settling himself between Connor’s spread legs. Oliver cups Connor’s cheek and bends down for kiss that’s sweet. “So gorgeous like this.”

Connor knots a hand in Oliver’s hair and tries to take the kiss deeper, licking further into Oliver’s mouth. Oliver groans and lets him, lets Connor take his mouth, hard and wet, before pulling away.

“Condom,” he mutters and Connor smiles against Oliver’s neck.

“Who’s stopping you?” he teases as he sucks a mark on Oliver’ collarbone.

Oliver groans and captures Connor’s mouth again, kissing him long and deep, before pulling away. He leans over Connor to reach for the condom he’d laid out before and Connor uses the opportunity to take one of Oliver’s nipples into his mouth. He circles his tongue around the bud before gently nipping it and grins at Oliver’s answering groan.

“Stop that,” Oliver hisses, settling back on his knees, condom in hand.

Connor props his head up with an arm and grins. “You love it.”

In answer, Oliver simply shoots Connor a look and Connor smiles again. Ollie makes it so easy sometimes.

Oliver’s fingers fumble as he tries to open the condom. His hands are shaking and he can’t seem to catch his breath. He’d been too focused on Connor, too focused on Connor’s pleasure, Connor’s need, he hadn’t realized how much he needed this too.

Connor huffs a breathless laugh as he watches Oliver fumble with the foil package. “You got it?”

Oliver shoots him another look and lightly slaps Connor’s thigh. “I got it.”

Connor opens his mouth, a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue, but quickly closes it again. They aren’t playful anymore. They aren’t playful or affectionate or them anymore. They are just this. Connor has to remember that, has to stop forgetting what this is between them, that this is all there is between them. Pretending to argue then a quick fuck, after which, Connor leaves before either of them have caught their breath.

Successful in finally opening the condom, Oliver rolls it on and grabs for the abandoned bottle of lube, slicking up his cock before glancing down at Connor again. “You good?”

Connor raises on leg, rests it against Oliver’s chest, and bends the other out wide. He settles down on the mattress a bit. “Do it.”

At Connor’s suddenly dark tone, Oliver can’t help a puzzled frown. “Connor–”

“Just fuck me, Oliver.” Connor pins him with an unreadable look. “That’s what we’re here for. Fuck me.”

Oliver’s face sobers. Right. That is what they’re here for. This isn’t making love. This is fucking.

He lines the head of his cock up with Connor’s hole and lightly presses in. Oliver’s thrusts are shallow and slow and Connor presses his head back against the pillows at the slow, teasing burn.

“Jesus,” Connor breathes out and Oliver marvels at the strained cords of Connor’s neck.

Connor is stunning like this. Well, Connor is always stunning. But like this, lost in the middle of pleasure, eyes closed, face a picture of bliss, Connor’s the most beautiful man Oliver’s ever seen, ever known, ever loved.

Oliver thrusts again, deeper, faster this time, and Connor arches back deeper, his chest a long curve in the soft moonlight.

Sometimes Connor is so stunning, so overwhelming, that Oliver feels choked by it. Choked by the feeling, by the need, by the love.

He leans down over Connor, cupping a hand behind Connor’s neck, supporting Connor’s neck. “Con,” Oliver breathes against Connor’s lips as he starts moving faster, thrusting even deeper, taking Connor higher.

Connor whimpers against Oliver’s lips and digs fingernails into Oliver’s back. It’s so much. Oliver thick and hard inside him, Oliver drilling his prostate, Oliver pushing Connor higher. “Fuck me, Ollie.” Love me.

Oliver’s only answer is a grunt as he pulls out, nearly all the way, before thrusting back in hard. Connor claws at the sheets around him as Oliver quickens his pace and wraps fingers around Connor’s straining penis, jacking him off in time with Oliver’s pounding thrusts.

At the sensation, Connor’s mouth falls open and his head falls back. “Ollie,” he breathes, soft, overwhelmed. Oliver’s pace is brutal and Connor can’t keep up. He tries to thrust back in time, tries to keep pace, but it’s too much, too fast, too hard. He just lies back and takes it. Takes all of Oliver.

Bracing a hand near Connor’s head, Oliver leans over him. The rocking of his hips slows a bit, smoothes, and his grip on Connor’s penis loosens a tad. “You wanna come, Con?”

Connor whines and thrusts back on Oliver’s cock, missing the brutal pace of moments ago, the slap of Oliver’s balls against his hole.

“Connor.” At the command in Oliver’s voice, Connor opens his eyes. “You want to come?”

Connor nods. “Please.” He uncurls his fingers from the bedsheets and runs them up Oliver’s chest. Cupping Oliver’s cheeks, he pulls him down. “Please, Ollie,” Connor breathes, his breath hot against Oliver’s lips. “Take me.”

Oliver captures Connor’s mouth against his and does exactly that. His resumes his brutal pace from moments before, drilling Connor’s prostate, his balls slapping hard against Connor’s hole. His fist tighten around Connor’s penis and pumps, hard and fast.

Connor wraps his arms around Oliver’s shoulders and clings as Oliver pushes him higher and higher. “Take me,” he pants against Oliver’s temple. Connor’s almost there. His balls tighten with every brush of Oliver’s penis against his prostate, every flick of Oliver’s wrist as he pulls Connor up. “Take me. Take me. Take me.” Connor can feel as he Oliver pushes him over, feel as the orgasm sweeps over him, stealing his breath away. “Love me.” Connor doesn’t know if he thinks it or cries it out as he spills over Oliver’s fist. His fingernails dig into Oliver’s back and Connor stifles his second cry by biting, hard, into the muscle of Oliver’s shoulder.

Oliver continues to pound him, fuck him, take him as the orgasm wrings out of Connor. Oliver’s cock still hard and thick in Connor’s ass; his fist still tight around Connor. There is no nursing Connor through the aftershocks, no sweet and loving kisses, no reverent touches. This is a fucking through and through and Oliver’s not done yet.

Connor nearly whimpers when overstimulation makes the hand on his cock nearly painful and every roll of Oliver’s hips almost hurt. He bites back a cry and clings harder to Oliver’s shoulder but Oliver hears regardless and eases back, stilling inside Connor.

Oliver blinks. “Connor,” he whispers and now is the moment for reverent touches. He brushes a thumb along Connor’s cheek and Connor presses into the gentle contact.

“Ollie.” Connor smiles and brushes back Oliver’s hair. It’s sweaty and a little curly and Connor loves it. Loves him.

Oliver glances down at Connor’s stomach, coated in his own cum and thrusts again, slow and deep inside Connor. He places the palm of his hand flat against Connor’s skin and smears the mess, rubbing it into Connor’s skin. Connor arches back with a low moan that has Oliver moving faster, pressing deeper, taking more. Connor whines at the pleasure and pain of it and curls fingers into Oliver’s hair, pulling until it hurts.

“Connor.” The name is a groan pulled from Oliver and Connor smiles.

He widens his legs and grins up. “More, Ollie. More.”

Oliver’s pace becomes erratic, too fast, too much but still not enough. He pulls out of Connor and ignores Connor’s whine of protest. With one hand, Oliver pulls of the condom, tossing it aside to take himself in hand. Oliver braces the other hand up near Connor’s head, holds himself over Connor so they are eye-to-eye, hip-to-hip, as Oliver frantically fucks his fist.

Oliver’s eyes never leave Connor’s, boring into Connor’s with that intensity that always leaves Connor breathless. He loosens the fingers in Oliver’s hair, slips them down to bracket Oliver’s cheeks. Rubbing a thumb along Oliver’s jaw, Connor whispers, “On me, Oliver.”

“Con,” Oliver’s voice is broken, a breathless a plea.

Connor lifts to meet Oliver’s lips in a kiss that’s soft as a whisper. He feels Oliver’s hand still fisting himself and looks down to watch. “On me,” he tells Oliver, his eyes never leave Oliver’s hand and cock. “On me.”

Oliver’s answering shout is loud and the cum that rushes over his fist and onto Connor’s stomach is hot. He groans again as he collapses on top of Connor and it’s hardly muffled when Oliver tucks his face into Connor’s shoulder.

For a moment, then another, they lay just like that. Oliver catching his breath, panting into Connor’s shoulder, with Connor still and unsure beneath him. Then Connor wraps a trembling arm around Oliver’s shoulders and holds him there. Connor feels Oliver stiffen, his back tighten, his breath catch, before every muscle in Oliver’s body loosens and he relaxes even deeper into Connor. Connor wraps his other hand around Oliver’s shoulder, clinging even tighter, and buries his face in Oliver’s hair.

They stay like this even longer, both reluctant to move and break the spell of it all.

Eventually, Oliver protests, “I’m too heavy. Lemme–” He starts to move, planning to shift just a touch to the side so all his weight isn’t pressing Connor flat into the mattress, but then Connor moves too.

“I should–” He starts to stand.

“No! Connor.” Oliver’s hand on Connor’s shoulder stays him. “I was just–”

“Nah. It’s late.” Connor brushes off the hand at his shoulder and Oliver’s protest. “I should go.” He stands then.

“But wait! I didn’t want–” Oliver sits up. His feet tangle in the bedsheets and Oliver’s distracted just long enough for Connor to slip out of bed.

“It’s fine.” Walking quickly, but also careful not to rush, Connor heads into the kitchen, bending down to pick up his pants and boxers. “I should go anyway. Got an exam tomorrow.”

Oliver joins him in the kitchen and watches as Connor dresses. “Con–” he starts, his tone weary. He doesn’t want Connor to go but also knows Connor shouldn’t stay.

“It’s fine, Olls. Don’t worry about it.”

Connor throws his sweater on over his head and sits on the arm of the couch to slip on his shoes. Watching Connor, now fully dressed, Oliver feels self-conscious about his own lack of clothing and crosses his arms over his chest.

Shoes tied, Connor stands. “Well…”

“You don’t have to go,” Oliver blurts out. “I–I don’t want–”

“Ollie,” Connor cuts off the confession that neither of them are ready for.

Sex doesn’t fix anything. Sex doesn’t make what either of them did any better. Sex doesn’t mend the hurt and pain and broken trust.

Sex isn’t love. They need to stop confusing the two.

Connor runs a hand through his hair. “We need to stop this.”

Swallowing down the surprising sting of tears, Oliver nods. “I know.”

The silence is heavy between them, heavy and awkward.

“I should go.”

Connor heads for the door and Oliver watches him, arms still crossed over his chest.

“Wait!”

Hand on the knob, Connor turns.

Plucking Connor’s discarded key off the kitchen counter, Oliver steps over. “Here.” He holds out the key and Connor mutely takes it. “Just…” Oliver huffs a laugh, trying to inject some levity into the situation. “Just text first next time.”

Connor nods and tries to quell down the hope that flares at those words. Next time. “I will.”

Oliver leans in, brushing whisper-light lips against Connor’s cheek. He wants to beg Connor to stay, curl fingertips into the cotton of Connor’s sweater and never let go, but he knows neither will work. He’s tried it all before, nothing will convince Connor to stay. “Let me know you got there safe.”

Connor nods again. “I’ll text you.” He hesitates a moment more before turning the knob and opening the door. “Bye, Olls.”

“Bye, Con.”

The door closes with a soft click and, for a moment and then one more, neither of them move. Outside, Connor taps soft fingertips over the painted wood of 303. Inside, Oliver leans into the door, pressing a hip and shoulder into the unforgiving wood.

Connor waits for Oliver to turn the bolt. Oliver waits for Connor to head down the hall for the stairs.

When neither break first, Connor taps light knuckles on the wood in a light tune. _Shave and a haircut_. Oliver taps back. _Two bits_.

Connor’s smile is free. “Night, Ollie,” he whispers, his words so soft they just reach Oliver’s ears.

Oliver’s smile is sad. “Night, Con,” he returns, his words just as soft but still reaching their audience.

Connor heads down the hall for the stairs. Oliver turns the bolt.

When he’s sure he’s far enough down the hall, Connor whispers one last thing. “Love you, Oliver.”

When he’s sure Connor’s far enough down the hall, Oliver whispers back. “Love you, too, Connor.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com)


End file.
